Spring Roses
by Willful Redhead
Summary: A one shot on a Sunday in the spring after the first season.


Hannah McFadden had determined late in the night that she would NOT leave the house the next day. She would make some excuse; some reason. No matter what there was no way she was going. No. She wandered downstairs and out to the front porch around four in the morning. Watching the sunrise, she decided it - officially. She would stay home.

Adam hadn't noticed she'd left; too exhausted to even stir during the night. By the time he came downstairs, she had bacon sizzling in the pan and was pouring him a cup of coffee.

"Early morning?" He asked kissing her.

"Lazy rancher." She smiled at him. "It's nearly 5:30. You slept in like a city boy."

"I was up late last night." He slid his arms around her, setting aside the coffee cup she'd handed him. "I spent hours with a sick ewe and then climbed into bed next to one of the most beautiful women on the planet - so not much sleep." He grinned at her and leaning low kissed her.

It felt good to slip away into his embrace; to forget about everything. His kisses always seemed to make everything else fade into the background. His hands felt good as he slid them over her skin.

"Adam. . ." She warned.

"Nobody here but you and me." He whispered between kisses. "And I love you darlin'."

She almost said something then but couldn't. It would take too long and sooner or later one of the brothers would come in. So instead, she pulled him closer and kissed him deeply. She wouldn't think about anything at all; would live only in this moment and deal with the next one when it came.

***7***

Brian McFadden did not relish the fact that he shared his "bedroom" with his twelve year old brother. He also did not enjoy the fact that his bedroom was a passageway between the kitchen and living room. He had no privacy; no space all his own.

He crawled out of bed and cursed his fate that cows never slept in. He ran a hand through his hair and headed to the kitchen drawn by the smell of coffee and bacon. He froze in his tracks at the sight of Adam and Hannah locked in an embrace. They were oblivious to him. Blushing, he spun around and decided that coffee could wait. He rummaged under his bed, searching for his boots and trying to erase the image from his mind.

He'd never confess it to anyone but he was desperately jealous of Adam. It wasn't that Hannah was attractive - although she was, or that she was kind -which she also was. It was the way seemed solidly together; a truly united partnership. Seeing the way that Hannah would reach for Adam's hand or rush out to greet him would fill Brian with such a loneliness.

He had his share of women. He had discovered that his devilish smile could charm just about any pretty girl who was looking for fun. He had plenty of fun, too. But fun was _all_ he had. He had no partner, no best friend at his side when trouble hit. He found this most obvious when hard times came their way - which they always did. Sure he had lots of girls to have a good time with, but when they sat waiting to see if Guthrie would survive a horrific car accident, he waited alone while Hannah stood at Adam's side; her hand firmly in his. When they'd nearly lost the ranch, he'd sat up worrying, alone - his kid brother asleep beside him. Adam had slept in the arms of his wife who not only soothed his worries but found a way to save their ranch.

He walked out into the early May morning, the image of Adam and Hannah still in his mind, and a familiar empty longing in his heart. Seeing them together always made him feel alone.

***7***

The smell of bacon burning, led Daniel to the kitchen. Brian was notorious for starting breakfast and getting sidetracked.

"Something's burning. You . . ." He stepped into the kitchen and almost immediately turned around. He kept his back to his older brother and his wife who broke apart from their passionate kiss, blushing.

"The bacon!" Hannah cried out rushing to the stove. She pulled it off the burner. "It's ruined."

"I don't mind." Adam said leaning against the counter and smiling broadly at her. "Who cares about breakfast?"

"I do." Daniel said turning around to face them. "Honestly! What if Guthrie'd come in just now?"

"He would've seen a married man kissing his wife." Adam said. "Married folks do all sorts of things like that, Daniel."

"Oh, be quiet!" Hannah said, waving a dish towel at her husband. "He's just cranky." She explained to Daniel.

"I imagine so." Daniel said. "But it's Sunday morning for pity's sake! Shouldn't you be thinking about God or church?"

"I was thanking God just a minute ago." Adam replied. "But then you walked in."

Daniel sputtered and rubbing the back of his neck said nervously, "I'm gonna go see about that . . . um . . ." and they watched him walk out and down the back steps across the yard to the barn.

"Well, at least you didn't make that feel awkward." Hannah said raising an eyebrow at Adam, who just smiled at her.

"Morning." Guthrie said stepping into the room and sitting in a chair. "Somebody burned the bacon."

"Yep." Adam agreed. He crossed the room and kissed Hannah's cheek. "Chores." He squeezed her shoulder and left.

"Sorry 'bout the bacon Guthrie. I'll make another batch. You want to get the juice?" Hannah asked turning to her brother-in-law.

"Sure."

***7***

She could hear them all beginning to gather downstairs, and knew that he'd come upstairs looking for her soon. She was surprised to find herself actually wringing her hands. It was silly, of course. She was a grown woman. She could decide to stay home for no reason whatsoever, but somehow she felt that she was trying to trick her mom into letting her skip school.

The door opened.

"You ready . . ." He drew back surprised and stepped fully into the room. "Hannah? You aren't even dressed."

"I was going to stay home." She said quietly.

"What? You didn't say anything earlier. Is something wrong?" His eyebrows knit together.

"No, I just . . . I got this really bad headache, and I just want to lay down for a minute." She chewed at the corner of her lip feeling the onset of an actual headache. She supposed a headache was the least she deserved for lying.

He moved closer, concern etched over his chiseled features. His jaw tensed and she wanted to reach up a hand and rub along the side of his face, feeling the smooth, familiar skin under her fingers. Truthfully, she wanted to fall into his arms and stay there for the next twenty-four hours. She felt best there - safe in his embrace - especially in times like now when she felt at war with herself. But she also wished that she could fall into his arms and not have to explain anything. She didn't want there to be any words at all; just understanding and comfort. _If this were some stupid tv show, he would already know. He would've written me a card or a song and would whisk me away to France or an isolated cabin in the Black Forest of Germany._ She sighed, and shifted nervously from one foot to another.

"It's really okay, Adam. It's probably just hormonal."

"Oh." He said. Relief washing over his face. "You sure you're okay? You need me to stay home?"

_Yes!_ She wanted to shout. But instead she shook her head. "I'm fine." Nothing like a slight mention of her menstrual cycle to send a cowboy running.

"Alright, darlin'." He kissed her forehead. "We'll see you after church, then." He turned to go but paused in the doorway. "Hannah . . ." He hesitated, unsure. "You aren't keeping something from me, are you?" _Forget, tv shows. _She thought. _Thoughtful happens in real life too._

"No." She lied trying to keep the emotion out of her voice. "I just . . .I'm just gonna lie down for a bit."

"Alright." He said, and with a nod of his head, he went downstairs. She could hear them all troop out the door and load up into the truck. No doubt, they all just climbed in the back - no need to take two cars if she wasn't going.

She immediately climbed back into bed, pulling the covers up and over her head. She felt like a small child trying to ward off bad dreams. Guilt settled on her shoulders like a heavy weight. She understood that she had reason for telling Adam lies like that, but to be honest, it was really the first time she'd intentionally deceived him. It didn't feel good, and now she had the guilt of that on top of everything else.

***7***

"Headache?" Crane asked over the rattle of the truck's engine.

"That's what she said." Adam answered, chewing at the corner of his lip.

The day had started out really nicely, too. She'd gave no indication of feeling badly earlier. Of course, truth be told he was pretty focused on kissing her as much as he could before the brothers woke up so he might have missed any clues she was sending him. He worried that maybe he'd been too pushy. But no, rethinking it - _she_ had leaned in, kissing him back. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was quite right.

"She probably just wanted two hours by herself without any noise." Brian said from the other side of the truck. "Skipping church is her only chance."

Adam laughed along with Crane and Brian. His brother had a point. He couldn't think of the last time _he'd_ been alone for more than ten minutes since the day he'd taken on raising his brothers. She had lived alone in a tiny trailer before marrying him; maybe she missed those times of solitude.

They strode into church - the younger boys immediately splitting off and finding friends. He felt oddly out of place. Normally, Hannah would be at his side, and he would follow her as she stopped to talk to different women who had befriended her. He was kind of surprised she'd miss church. It was the one time when she actually got to interact with people other than his brothers. It was the only time she got to see other women. He was used to a life with his brothers and sometimes he forgot about how it must be for her - the only girl in the house; isolated on the ranch. He felt badly that he wasn't more sensitive or thoughtful about things like that.

"Come on." Brian said, and pulling him by the arm led him into the church.

Back in the days of their parents, they'd always sat in the third row. His mother had said they were less likely to act up if the pastor were close enough to make eye contact. In the years after their parents' deaths, they'd sat toward the back, unable to sit in that pew without their parents. Brian hadn't darkened the door of the church for two solid years after the crash; too angry. He gradually came back, sitting in the last row. They had stopped sitting together for a time. The older boys would sit with various girls or friends. Adam kept the littlest ones with him, until they too, grew up and sat with friends, or girls. After he married Hannah, she gathered them all, and plopped them in the fifth row - eight strong McFaddens sitting together again in church. Even Brian acquiesced to her insistence. Adam knew it stemmed from her deep need for family - something he was overflowing with and she lacked completely. She loved sitting together; a family.

Brian plopped beside him in their usual row. "It's pathetic, really." He said to adam. "You can't even function without her anymore."

"No, I was just . . ."

"You looked like a lost kid." Brian shook his head and glanced around the church. "It would be worth getting up in the morning if just one pretty girl actually came here." He sighed. "But look around." He lifted his hand and shrugged his shoulders in disgust.

"Only one pretty girl goes here, and she stayed home today." Adam said.

"Oh, hell!" Brian said just loud enough for Mrs. Murtrey to turn around a glare at him.

"She misses one Sunday and they scatter to the winds." Crane said sitting on the other side of Adam. "They've all picked girls to sit with."

"Guthrie?" Brian asked surprised.

"No. He's over there with Jimmy. I'd be worried but Jimmy's dad'll kick their butts if they act up during the service." He glanced at Adam. "What's the matter with him?"

"Lovesick." Brian said shaking his head. "Separated ten minutes and he looks like he's gonna cry."

"Geez, Adam! Give the girl a break, huh?" Crane shook his head at Adam.

"I can't shake the feeling that something else is going on. Maybe I screwed up?"

"No maybe about it." Brian said with a grin. He glanced around the church again. "They all have flowers." He made this observation, mostly to distract his pathetic older brother.

"What?" Crane asked.

"All the girls. They have flowers. Wait, not all of them, just some of them. Must be handing them out." Brian said.

Crane opened his mouth to speak, a sinking feeling in his gut, but then the music started. He thought of nudging Adam's shoulder, but they were all rising and the pastor was praying over the congregation.

Adam stood with head bowed, but not listening to the pastor's prayer. He sat back down in the pew, as the music started. He glanced over and could see that Crane was looking at him. He furrowed his eyebrows feeling like he'd just missed something. He glanced over at Brian who had an equally worried look on his face. Concerned he tuned back into the pastor's words.

". . . important to recognize their influence on the community. So if you are a mom go ahead and stand up. We'd love to celebrate you on this special day."

"Oh, shit!"

He thought he'd muttered it under his breath, but by the looks from family in front of him, he realized he'd said it too loud. He felt sick, dizzy, and stupid.

"Take the truck. We'll find a way home." Brian said, pushing him. Crane rose, and stepped out of his way. He still tripped, and stumbled and felt all eyes land on him, as he rushed out of the church. He ran to the truck and climbed into the cab, sliding the key into the ignition. He didn't turn it over though, simply sat where he was, gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles white.

_Mother's Day_

Goddamnit! He'd missed it. He used to be so careful about things like that. In the beginning just about anything would set Danny off, and so he was always studying the calendar like a farmer studying the almanac - looking for warning signs of dark days ahead. But they'd found their way; even making their own holidays. Two years ago, Evan had brought home a bouquet of flowers for Brian on Mother's day. They all had laughed and laughed.

He glanced back at the church and saw the sign now. _Happy Mother's Day!_ What a complete jackass! It was probably in the bulletin last week too. He knew it was on the calendar hanging in the kitchen - all the holidays were already printed on the calendar.

"_It's really okay."_

He remembered the look in her eyes, and that he had a feeling in his gut something was wrong. She'd lied to him! He was surprised by that. He had thought she could tell him anything. He certainly could say anything to her - anything at all. Of course, he realized suddenly, that wasn't entirely true. This was one topic they hadn't talked about too much. She hadn't wanted to and he had never made her - telling himself that it was out of kindness but really he was scared. He didn't know what to say to her. He couldn't bear to see that look of anguish in her eyes, so he let her pretend it wasn't there - for his sake.

He turned the engine over, and drove out of the church parking lot so fast, that the gravel kicked up high behind his wheels. He drove the way he felt - angry. He was angry that he'd been so stupid and selfish. He was angry that she was hurt and alone - just like when it happened.

_Twice. I've abandoned her twice, now._

He thought of all the lies he'd told himself; that she was fine, that it was over and that it didn't matter. He sighed thinking of the two times he'd awoken, sure he'd heard her crying, but when he'd asked if she was alright - her answer had been a quiet, "I'm fine."

She'd lied to him, and he'd let her. He was so stupid. He should've wrapped his arms around her and made her talk to him. He should've clicked on the light and admitted how scared he was for her; for them. He should've told her that sometimes when he thought about it, he still cried too.

He was so lost in thought, he nearly missed the turn off, but caught himself just in time. He pulled up to the house and it looked dark and cold, despite the warm spring sun. He went inside feeling anxious and unsure. He went straight to their room figuring she was still where he'd left her, but the room was empty. The bed unmade, with her robe thrown across it was enough of a signal for him to know something was wrong. Hannah was fastidiously neat.

He sat on their bed, one hand resting on her robe, and tried to think like her - figure where she'd gone. He looked out the window and saw her then. Her feet swinging from the loft of the barn. He smiled in spite of himself. Her feet were bare and looked small from this distance - of course, her feet were small - he teased her about it. But seeing her sitting on the edge of the hayloft like that - she looked like a little girl. And then he was hit with a wave of pain thinking of a little girl with her brown curls, and bright eyes.

A sweet baby daughter.

He'd told her that he wanted a girl, and he could tell she thought he was just humoring her, but it was true. He'd raised boys, and was afraid that a son would just feel like another brother. He knew a daughter would be different. He would feel like a real father then not just a stand-in. Besides, his mother had longed for a girl. She'd loved her sons, but with every pregnancy his father had said to her, "Maybe this time, Kate!" She had laughed, and after Evan, always said back, "No way, Adam! Boys are all we get!" She hadn't said it as though she were disappointed. She was just stating a fact. Seven sons later, it was pretty clear she'd been right.

He went down the stairs, out the door and across the yard determined. _Don't be a chickenshit, Adam. Man up. Take care of your girl._

He climbed the ladder and she didn't even turn around as he crossed the hayloft. He lowered himself, sitting beside her.

"Is it that late already?" She asked.

"No."

She reached for his wrist, pulling it so she could read his watch.

"I left after the opening prayer." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I should have . . ."

"Oh, I don't need apologies, Adam. You've got nothing to be sorry for." She rubbed her face with her hands. "Forget about it. Let's just move on."

She turned to get up but he caught her wrist in his hand.

"No."

"No? Adam, you don't get to tell me what to do."

"Yeah, sweetheart, I do." She met his eyes with an icy glare. "I love you, darlin' and I've done a pretty crappy job of showing it. Hell, you and me are friends and I've been a crappy friend."

She sighed wearily and sat back down, resigned.

"Don't make a big deal over this, Adam. Please. I just didn't want to be there. Didn't want looks of pity. Didn't want to think about . . ." She rose suddenly. "Damn it, Adam. I didn't want this!" She turned and climbed down the ladder. He let her storm away. She didn't go back inside. He watched her stride across the pasture and disappear in the line of trees that bordered the little creek. He looked up into the blue sky and wondered why? Why had God seen fit to take this first child; this miracle from them? She'd done no wrong and both of them had lost enough in their lives? Why let her anticipate something with joy only to rip it from her - nearly killing her in the process? He shook himself out of his stupor, realizing he was sitting there doing nothing and leaving her alone - again.

He climbed down and walked through the yellow pasture. He found her with her feet in the creek water sitting on a grassy spot at the edge.

"You got the tiniest feet." He said sitting beside her. "I don't know how you don't topple over." He had said it to her a hundred times.

She sat beside him silently and they watched the water flow past them.

"When I was maybe nine or ten, I came in from chores and my Mama and Marlene were in the kitchen talking. All of the sudden, I see her, Mama, burst into tears, sobbing." He glanced at her. "It scared me and I didn't know what to do. Fortunately, Daddy came in just then. He saw me; saw her. And even though I was pretty damn big, he lifted me up and carried me outside."

She sat silent still and he glanced at her, hesitant. "She lost a baby between Evan and Daniel. She was really sad and none of us knew what to do about it. It made me feel helpless. But Marlene stepped right in. She was a real good friend to Mama - could always get past those walls Mama put up." His eyes rested on her. "I keep wishing Mama was here. She'd know how to comfort you." He gave a deprecating laugh. "Kind of pathetic really - little boy wishing for his Mama to help."

He turned away watching the water flow past. "I'm glad you stayed home. I'd hate to think of you sitting there a sweet smile pasted on your race while inside . . ." He shook his head. "It is the same way you are about everything - thinking of the boys or me, first. What about you?"

"It's just today." She said softly. "It's just a bad day."

She looked up at him then, meeting his eyes at last. There was no smile on her face which was etched with sorrow. She broke from his gaze.

"I wish you wouldn't look at me like that."

"Like what?" He asked.

"Like you feel sorry for me. Like I'm pathetic." He could hear the pain in her tone of voice.

"Honey," He swallowed hard. "You are so strong. It makes me mad sometimes how strong you are." She looked at him surprised. "It makes me mad that you had to learn to be so strong." He explained. "That you've been so alone. I hate to think of you crying and no one to put their arms around you. Or worse, I hate to think of you hiding tears and holding them back and no one to say knock it off and let it go."

She turned away from him, shaking her head. "It wasn't even a week. It was just a few days. It's no great tragedy. Happens to lots of women."

"It is a great tragedy. You nearly died for one thing." He choked up on the words, reaching for her hand. He was desperate to feel the comforting touch of her soft fingers. "And that was our baby. We loved her. We were hoping to see her face and kiss her tiny toes. She was our sweet baby, darklin' and I can't say how much it makes heart ache to see your empty arms."

She turned and faced him, her face pale, and her eyes wide. "Adam," She whispered softly. "You're no cowboy. You are a poet."

He blushed, ducking his head. "It's just 'cause of you and . . ."

"She?" She tilted her head looking up at him.

"I told you I wanted a girl. I already raised boys. I want this to be different. I want to know how it feels to really be a father."

"You are a father." She said gently. "But, this," She sighed looking away again. "I wish it were something easy. Shouldn't you have one thing that is easy?"

"I do." He said seriously. "I've got you. You make everything easier. You don't even know."

"Except this." She met his eyes, and then looking away from him continued. "It's been nearly four months. Every month I think that maybe it will happen, but it doesn't. And I wish . . ."

He reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. He said nothing in response could think of nothing useful to say. He kissed her fingers and gazed out into the bright blue sky. He was suddenly caught in an old memory.

"Somewhere out there, along that fence line, I once buried a card I wrote to this girl I was dating." She looked over at him surprised.

"Which one?" He could have laughed at the jealous tone in her voice.

"Doesn't matter. She'd turned me away - told me she was too young to take on my six brothers. God, I was so hurt. I was driving home, and then I remembered that I had bought her a card. I had wanted to tell her how happy I was that she was willing to see me - in spite of my brothers."

"I'm sorry." Hannah said softly, squeezing his hand.

"I was so frustrated. I just knew that it would never work; never. Who would ever willingly take it all on? So, I hiked out here and buried the card in the dirt - along with all my hopes. I quit then. Didn't date anyone - didn't even really look at anyone - just focused on my brothers."

"And a week later you met me." She looked up at him. "Is this your inspirational story of how I need to let it go and suddenly we'll have nine children?"

"I met you seven years later, sweetheart. So it would be a pretty crappy inspirational story."

"Yeah, it would." She agreed. "I think I missed the point."

"I didn't really have one honey." He moved closer to her, putting an arm around her. "I regret a lot of things. I regret losing my temper on my brothers when they were small. I regret being so mean to my mother when she told me she was pregnant with Guthrie. But what I regret most is that last year that I had with them. I spent all of it - wishing the year were gone and over - longing to be free. All I could think about was when I would finally be at school and on my way to my real life." He shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't know it would be the last year. I didn't know I was already living my real life."

She sighed deeply, leaning her head against his shoulder. "You wasted your days waiting for something that would never happen."

"No!" He sat up abruptly. "I guess I'm not so good at the inspirational story. No! I wasted days waiting for something that would come later. I should've enjoyed that last year at home. It was good, but I spent every minute of it comparing it to something I imagine would be even better." He turned to face her. "It was the same thing when Shannon ended it with me. I couldn't spend any more days longing for a girl who would make my days happy. I had to find happiness right then and there, and pray some day she would show up." He smiled at her. "And she did."

He reached out and touched her face. "It wasn't like we decided to have a baby right away, was it? It would have been really wonderful. The ache of it," He shook his head at her. "I can't fight it sometimes - to think of your beautiful face reflected in a baby. And when that day comes, I'll be so joyful, but you and me we already got so much that's good. Every day with you - even those fights we have - I am so grateful, Hannah. I'm so happy." He chewed at the corner of his lip trying to keep tears at bay. "And I wish I could travel backwards in time to that boy that buried that card and tell him that everything was gonna be okay. That everything was gonna be so good. That it was just gonna take a little time."

She leaned into his arms then, her head resting against his chest; relaxing fully against him. "It's just a bad day." She repeated softly. "That's all this is."

"No. It's you and me finally saying the truth. It is us admitting that our hearts got broken by it." He kissed her forehead softly. "It's you admitting that it hurts you still, and that you are scared. You can trust me to say those things, Hannah. I won't ever leave you."

"I am scared." Her voice was so soft that he barely heard it. "I'm scared I'll never have a mother's day. I'm scared that I'll never be able to give you a father's day."

"You've given me so much already. I'll take whatever comes my way." He said to her, meaning it. "You're my best friend, Hannah. The best one I've ever had, and we can face anything. I know we can. You've made me believe that there's nothing we can't do."

She said nothing, simply burrowed tighter into his embrace. She didn't need to say anything anyway. They sat together until the sun grew hot, and then walked back to the house together hand-in-hand. As the reached the front steps, they could see the church van approaching in the far distance - no doubt loaded up with his stranded brothers. She smiled at him, seeing it coming their way.

"The kids are home." She said softly, a sad smile on her face.

"Yep. They are probably gonna be worried about you." He said apologetically. "If you want you can hide out while I tell them to leave it alone."

"No." She said, shaking her head so that her waves of brown hair danced in the sunlight. "We're family. There's no need to hide things."

"No." He agreed, and standing in front of the steps that led up into the house, that he prayed would one day be filled with their own children, he leaned down low to kiss her soft lips.

They were kissing still as the old church van pulled into the driveway. She broke away from his embrace then, and he was awed by her seemingly endless well of strength, as she squared her shoulders ready to face his no doubt well meaning brothers. But feeling her fingers clinging tightly to his, he understood that she gained strength from him; from the security of his love and understanding. He was turning to say something to her, when his brothers spilled out of the van, each one clutching a rose that they lay gently in her open hand, as they kissed her cheek, whispering softly, "Happy Mother's Day, Hannah."

***7***

_Author's Note_

_I was blessed with two children who came to us easily and without difficulty - one just seventeen months after the other! But I have friends and family who have struggled, struggle still. I can't imagine the pain they face on Mother's Day or Father's day. I think of a good friend who struggled for years and years, bravely coming to Sunday service on such a painful day. I wanted to somehow give her permission to stay home - to snap all those roses in half that they hand out to the Moms! And yet, the following year, she was there again with her miracle baby girl. _

_Lots of things bugged me about Winter Roses - not the least of which was the way the doctor sort of blew past the whole - "it might be a little more difficult" thing - in reality, her chances of becoming pregnant were cut in half. Of course, it was a cheesy 80s drama with lots of hunky guys in it - not a realistic show, so I guess I could lighten up on it not being factual. Not to mention the show was more about those good looking boys than Hannah. But I'm somewhat fascinated of a new marriage being played out in front of six brothers - plus I liked Adam and Hannah - but you've probably figured that out already. . ._

_Hoping you were sufficiently entertained. _

_Willfully,_

_Red_


End file.
